dred scott dispatches

the subway doors open and a short woman bursts out and straight into my chest.  i look down to see she is crying hysterically, grabbing a fistful of my overcoat in each hand and rubbing her head into my shirt, leaving smears of hair product as she shakes her head from side to side, muttering,
‘please…no..don’t get on.’
she turns and sees an old woman in full burka smiling with her arms open.  her eyes are ringed with dark circles and her teeth are rotting.  the woman pushes me aside and takes off running down the platform.  when she reaches the steps she takes them three at a time.  i’m thinking, the way she is hauling ass with those short legs, she must’ve run some track in high school or even college.
‘stand clear of the closing doors, please.’i brush past the burka lady who is holding the train doors open shouting at the woman running away,
‘come back here puerto rico.  what are you afraid of? hahahahahah….’
she steps back and the doors close. i sit down next the this hip chick with pink hair reading no exit.  i check her out.
‘hmmm. good book,’ i say.  she doesn’t look up.
‘the next stop is…..gravesend.’
shit.  i’m on the wrong train. i look across the aisle and there is a young woman staring back at me.  right on.  too bad she’s not my type - white girl with dreads, way too much make up, a big, wide mouth encircled by three shades of lipstick, a leopard print scarf that oversized, wooden, african earrings dangled and danced on and a sleeveless black dress.  one of the dresses that says, ‘check out my tits.’  she keeps staring and i kind of look away disgusted with myself.  how did i get on the wrong train?  i ride the subway every day. she finally says,
‘got on the wrong train, huh?’
”uh, yeah.’  is she reading my mind?
‘don’t worry.  i’ll help you get to your final destination.’
‘thanks.’  whatever.  ’i’ll just get off at the next stop and go back the way i came.’
she just smiles and shakes her head.  it comes off way too patronizing.  like she never got on the wrong train before. i pull out my headphones and my ipod.  it won’t turn on. battery must be dead. the train rattles on and on.  not stopping.  must be an express.   great.  a guy in a khaki trenchcoat and a fishing hat walks over to me.  he’s got grey stubble on his face and his eyes are wild and searching.   crazy guy.
‘i’ve been on this train for 45 years!’
i look down at his shoes.  white tretorn tennis shoes.  classics.  they are wet.  no wonder.  i’d probably piss myself too if i’d been on a subway train for four decades.
‘you’re better off just going along,’ he says to noone in particular.  it’s like i have a sign on my forehead - ‘talk to me crazy guy.’  burka lady, sitting quietly till now, starts chanting in a foreign language i don’t recognize.  she stands up and everyone in the car stands up.  except the chickie next to me and the  one across the aisle.  but they are all chanting in unison.  is it english, but backwards?  my friend carol can talk backwards.  it’s kind of creepy.  it sounds like that.  but how are they doing that all together?  the old man steps closer and puts his hand on my forearm.  his boney fingers are freezing.  bad circulation.
‘this is your stop,’  he says to me and the train slows and the old man is helping me out of my seat.  he is a lot stronger than he looks and i don’t think i could pull my arm free if i wanted to.  but strangely, i don’t.  the train glides to a stop without that jerky braking that throws everyone of balance.  i didn’t see the girl with the culturally confused get-up get up, but she is flanking me - our arms locked as she and the old man usher me over to the opening door.  they move me to the edge of the doorway and i see there is no platform.  just blackness.
‘hey.  wait.  there’s no - ‘
and i’m falling.  looking back at the suspended train fading away.  my coat rippling around me as i flail my arm and legs, trying to get some kind of purchase. and it’s getting hot.  hotter and hotter.  and there is fire all around me.  i can smell burning skin.  i look at my hand and it is bubbling, falling away from my bones.  i must be burning to death but i cannot lose consciousness.  i try to scream but nothing comes out.